


The Butcher

by attackontaco



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Skyrim - Freeform, The Butcher - Freeform, cookies for anyone who gets the amon amarth reference, haha 'butcher', my first fic on ao3 pls don't 'butcher' me, the dunmer girl is the dragonborn fyi, this was for a contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackontaco/pseuds/attackontaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of his sister, Callixto Corrium descends into madness. He thinks what he's doing is for the greater good, but after lines are blurred, everything changes, and he can never wash the blood off of his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Butcher

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic on AO3, I wrote it quite a while ago but felt like posting it up here as a tester, hope you enjoy!

“I think back to my time in Winterhold. All the wasted minds up in their towers. They only explore the magic they already know. I am discovering new magic here. Something deeper than the cantripped shenanigans of fire and light. This flesh magic is older than us. Perhaps older than the world itself. I am tugging at the corners of the fabrics of the universe, and where it bunches and folds is where I shall create my greatest triumph.” - Butcher Journal, Volume I

4E 202, 13th of Sun’s Dawn  
“You did this! You filthy wench! I should have you thrown in the dungeons!” Calixto heard a familiar voice yell as he wandered the streets of Windhelm one cold evening. It was Nilsine, the Shatter-Shield girl who had so tragically lost her sister. Calixto let out a single smug chuckle. “How tragic indeed.” he thought.

Reverting his attention to the so far one-sided — from what he’d heard — argument, he wondered who Nilsine was so very upset with, so he followed her voice until it grew loud enough to be coming from right in front of him. He realised he was in the Grey Quarter. The buildings were decorated with dark red and brown flags, on which rips and tears had been inflicted by all manner of things; passing birds, snow storms, perhaps even Rolff Stone-Fist on the nights he would get especially drunk and wander around throwing stones at the houses of the Dunmer — the drunk.

Calixto placed a hand on the stone wall in front of him, and gently peered around the corner, revealing to him two quarrelling women, one of them being — sure enough — Nilsine Shatter-Shield. She didn’t see him, and continued to throw words at the other woman — who Calixto could not identify. He made no attempt to follow the conversation, but did hear things along the lines of, ‘whore’, ‘scum’ and ‘traitor’. All coming from Nilsine, while the other woman remained silent, for the most part.

Finally, Nilsine finished with, “So leave me alone!” and stormed off in Calixto’s direction. The other woman turned around, and he caught a glimpse of her face before turning and walking away, so as not to be spotted by Nilsine as an eavesdropper. He’d seen the woman before — the Breton, with her short mahogany bob and strange green warpaint — but had never spoken to her or met her personally, if he recalled correctly, her name was Muiri.

Nilsine was fast approaching behind him, but Calixto continued at a normal pace. At last, she caught up to him, and as she passed, he called, “Nilsine! Fancy seeing you here at this hour, is everything alright?”.

She turned to him, eyes flaming with fury “That’s none of your—“ she stopped, calming herself, and then started again, “I— I’m fine, thank you, Calixto. It’s just…” she hesitated.  
“What?” Calixto asked.

“It’s just that father keeps saying we need to just get on with our lives. Like it's that easy. But it’s not, and now with that whore Muiri in town I just don’t know what to do. I miss my sister so much.” she said, choking on her words as a single cold tear ran down her cheek.

“I’m truly sorry about what happened to Friga.” Calixto said, lying only partially, “But perhaps your father is right.”

Nilsine sniffed, scowling at Calixto, “I should go.” she said, before turning back and walking away.

“Goodnight, Nilsine.” Calixto said as he watched her go. She granted him no reply.

She looked so much like Friga, it hurt him to talk to her. He felt little remorse for what he’d done, but the remorse was there, still. He knew what it was like to lose a sister, after all.

He started home, through the Grey Quarter, where Muiri had already left. As he walked, he remembered his sister, how beautiful and kind she was…  
4E 202, 14th of Sun’s Dawn

At home, he skimmed through an old journal of his nostalgically, but stopped on one page when he realised which one he’d picked up.

“I was gathering firewood, everything seemed normal. I was happy… until it happened. I should have known. It was far too good to be true. These past few months, settling here in Windhelm with my sister at long last, meeting that beautiful girl Susanna in Candlehearth Hall… But then today, when I came home, and I found her. My dear sweet sister, laying half dead on the living room floor. She couldn’t tell me what happened, she could barely speak. I just had time to say goodbye, and then she was gone.”

He closed the book, and felt a warm tear run down his face. Wiping it away, he made his way to bed. Only stopping in front of his experiment room, where Friga’s rotting corpse lay on a stone table, to quickly look inside. He furrowed his brow and closed the door, trying not to think of what he had to do to bring his sister back, not today.

 

The next day, Calixto was sitting in Candlehearth Hall, reading a book on necromancy — specifically ‘The Black Arts On Trial’ — that he had rebound with blank leather so no one would know what it was. It told of so many great necromancers over the ages, with so much power, Calixto could only dream of wielding it himself. So far he had only been able to wake up Friga’s corpse to a draugr-like state, but could achieve nothing more. Aside from bringing back his sister, the power had been playing an increasingly larger role in his practises, and Calixto found himself having days where he craved nothing more than to go out and kill someone — or even more than one person, perhaps — only to bring them back. Maybe, one day, he could raise an army. An army of the living dead. The strength of the Stormcloak resistance and the entire Empire combined would stone no match against his leagues of walking corpses! If they died, he could just bring them back, after all.

His thought was interrupted by the voice of a young woman, a voice he recognised instantly, “Would you like a drink? Something to eat, perhaps?” It was Susanna, the pretty server that’d been flirting with him since the moment he came to town.

“I’d love one.” he said, smiling, and looking her up and down. She truly was beautiful. He found himself fantasising about how he’d ravage her body, given the chance. Perhaps the idea wasn’t too far-fetched, either. After all, she had been flirting with him severely.

A short while later, Susanna returned with a lukewarm ale. Calixto handed her seven septims, two too many, but he’d done it on purpose.

“Thank you— Oh, this is too much.” she said sweetly, and began to hand him two septims back.

Calixto held up a hand, declining, “You can keep it.” he smiled.

Susanna giggled and walked away, her body swaying gracefully with every step.

As the evening progressed, Calixto became increasingly intoxicated, and eventually found himself seated at the bar completely.

It was closing time, and Elda — the owner of Candlehearth Hall — announced everyone had to leave. Calixto quickly bought two more ales, and left to drink them outside  
.  
He leaned against the cold stone of the Hall, and thought about his sister, and about Susanna. As he finished his last sip of ale and dropped the bottle on the ground, watching it shatter on the icy steps — the door opened again, this time it was Susanna that stepped out into the cold Windhelm air, and Calixto thanked the gods.

“Susanna!” he called loudly, even though she was standing right next to him.

“Oh! Calixto, you scared me.” she laughed, rubbing her arms. Her breath was visible against the frozen night air.

“You’re out early.” he said, smiling slyly.

“Yes, there wasn’t very much cleaning up to do tonight. Thank you for the tips, by the way.” she said.

“You’re welcome, fair maiden.” Calixto said drunkenly.

Susanna laughed nervously, “Well, I suppose I’ll be going home then.”

“So soon?” Calixto said, blocking her way.

“Err… Yes, I should really be going home.” she said.

Calixto didn’t waste anymore words, and leaned in to kiss Susanna without warning, but he barely reached her lips before she pushed him away with all her force, “Get off me!” she yelled.

“What? You’ve been sending me signals all night?” Calixto demanded.

Susanna started walking away without a word, and Calixto started after her immediately, grabbing her arm.

“Ow!” she slapped him across his face with her free hand, angering him, “I want nothing to do with you, Corrium! Now leave me be!” she yelled loud enough to alert the guard across the street.

Calixto let go of her, but began to reach for the dagger he had kept hidden under his tunic, before he could, though, he heard a man’s voice call from behind him, “I there a problem over there?” It was a guard, so he let go of the dagger, and huffed.

“No. Everything’s fine.” He called, still staring at Susanna’s shocked face.

She walked away at a quick pace, but immediately he began to follow her again, this time out of anger.

“Susanna! I’m sorry, just let me walk you home, alright? wouldn’t want anything happening to you.” he called after her when they were removed far enough from the guards so they couldn’t hear him.

There was no answer. Calixto quickened his pace, “Susanna!” he yelled again.

“No!” she finally answered, “Go away!”

He caught up to her just as they were passing through the graveyard, he stumble on the rocks a few times in his drunkenness.

He grabbed her by both arms and shoved her against a wall next to a tombstone roughly, slamming her head against the stone. Susanna cried out in pain.

“Guards!” she started, but she never finished her sentence. Calixto’s dagger was already plunged into her midriff and his other hand covered her mouth. Her muffled screams were drowned out by what Calixto’s mind was screaming at him in a much louder tone. Stop. Kill her. Don’t do it. Stab her harder.

He didn’t know what he was doing, but he kept stabbing. Over, and over, and over again…

Long after Susanna’s lifeless body fell limp in his hands, he kept stabbing, making a hole where her major organs once were. His arm was drenched in blood, and so was Susanna’s body.

And then he stopped. For no real reason, he just stopped stabbing her. He let her body fall to the ground, hearing a cracking sound as her skull hit the ice. There was blood everywhere, a gruesome sight. Calixto’s to mach turned, ever so slightly.

He looked over at the grave next to him, immediately noticing the name, it read, ‘Here lies Lucilla Corrium. Sister, and friend.’ There she was. He’d never gone to visit her before.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this, sister.” he said softly and blankly, as he dropped the dagger he’d murdered Susanna with. It clanked metallically on the icy ground next to his sisters grave.

Calixto started to lean forward, so as to gather Susanna’s body for experiments, but then he heard those damned guards approaching again.

He decided to come back for the body later, if he could.

“I am sorry, beautiful Susanna.” he said to the lifeless body on the ground beside him, and then he walked away.

He straightened himself out, and cleared his throat softly enough so as not to alert the guards.

“No more regrets.” he thought, “One day, I shall be the greatest necromancer of all time. All shall fear me, and by my side shall stand my greatest creation… my sister.”  
4E 202, 28th of Rain’s Hand

“Star-scrying to the edge of the Ice-mind look to the lights where the souls dance revealing the time when a spark will revive when the rotted united under most skilful hands”  
-The Butcher Journal, Volume II

“Seventeen tendons and assorted ligaments, one hundred and thirty-seven fragments of bone for assemblage…” Calixto counted aloud.

He sighed, he was so close now. He’d been busy, collecting as many pretty young women as he could find, “a beautiful body for my beautiful sister” he thought to himself.  
Still slightly remorseful, Calixto reassured himself Susanna, Friga, and everyone else who’s names he hadn’t bothered to learn would have gladly died for such a noble cause, and were probably smiling down at him from Aetherius now… or Sovngarde, or wherever those Nords went. It mattered not.

He carefully removed someone’s remains from the stone table, now in pieces. Her blood in buckets, her marrow in wooden bowls, her flesh in barrels. He then brought another and began dismembering and eviscerating her.

After he’d finished, he walked to his washing area to clean himself. He reeked of the irony smell of blood.  
Calixto was planning to go out for an ale, but it was Jester’s Day, so he only brought just enough gold for one, and his dagger, so as not to be robbed of anything important.

 

Later, at Candlehearth Hall, Calixto pondered the events of the past two months. He was almost ready now, to bring his sister back. There had, however, been several attempts to find ‘The Butcher’, as he was now known, they had thus far failed, but not for lack of trying.

The situation wasn’t looking good, rumour had that the dragonborn herself had become involved in the investigation, and Calixto was fairly certain she had questioned him herself.

A few evenings ago, an overly inquisitive Dunmer girl had come to his House of Curiosities. She’d been asking all kinds of questions about the murders, and didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in his collection. Further more, Calixto had never seen her before, and he knew everyone in Windhelm. He’d have killed her if she’d been a Nord, that he was certain of.

He’d managed to pin everything on that court mage, Wuunferth the Unliving, luckily, and hadn’t thought much more of it.

Suddenly, a Nord woman walked in, he’d seen her here before, quite often, even, but had never considered her for slaughter. Her hair was ark brown, and she wore banded iron armour, her name was Hermir, if he recalled correctly, of the Strong-Heart house. Slightly intoxicated, and eager to bring back his sister, he decided he’d kill her. Tonight.

He stood up, pushing his seat in to someones back who was sitting behind him, and raising a loud “Watch it, milk drinker!”.

He seated himself next to Hermir, and immediately attempted to strike up a conversation.

“Hello there, friend.” he began.

“Do I know you?” she replied after looking him up and down for a moment.

“It’s Calixto! Of the House of Curiosities. You’re Hermir, right?” he answered cheerily.

“Oh yeah, you. I remember going in your place once, gave me a creepy feeling.” she said.

“I’m sorry you feel that way about it.” Calixto said.

“No worries, just don;t expect me to come ‘round again anytime soon.” Hermir said.

“You know, I’d buy you a drink, but I’m afraid I don’t bring any gold. Jester’s day, and all.” he said.

“I can buy my own drinks.” Hermir retorted immediately.

“Not implying you couldn’t.” Calixto said.

“Then what are you implying, Corrium?” Hermir asked. She knew he wasn’t just trying to be friendly, but Calixto doubted she knew his true motives.

“Just trying to be friendly.” Calixto lied.

“Don’t. I’m not stupid, I know when someone is trying to get in my pants.” Hermir said blatantly.

“What? No! I would never! I just wanted to have a drink with you.” Calixto said with feigned shock.

“Right… Well, it’s almost closing time, I should be going home.” Hermir said suspiciously.

“Let me walk you, then.” Calixto offered.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Hermir said.

“Really, I’m going home now, too. If not for you, I know I’d like some company.” Calixto said.

Hermir sighed, annoyed, “Fine, let’s just go.”

It was working, soon, Calixto would have everything he needed to be reunited with Lucilla, and all would be right in the world. He did know, however, that nothing would ever be the same again, if successful, Calixto could raise an army of the dead alongside his sister. He smiled at the prospect.

 

Almost at the Strong-Heart house, Calixto prepared himself for the kill. He took a step back, and drew his dagger silently. Hermir was wearing armour so the only place he could strike to kill immediately was her neck. Calixto waited for her to turn around.

When she finally did, she started, “Goodnight then—“, but Calixto had already slashed open her neck, and there was blood gushing everywhere.  
‘What a shame,” he thought, “such a waste of good blood.”

He wiped his dagger on his shirt and pants, and placed it back in its sheath.

As he leaned over to drag away the body, he heard something behind him, and stopped. He slowly straightened himself out, and listened carefully.

He was being watched. He unsheathed his dagger once more, paused, and then quickly turned around.

He stumbled back from shock momentarily, as he found himself face to face with someone he’d seen before. It was that Dunmer girl. The one that was supposedly the fabled dragonborn. although she looked different now.

Instead of a green tonic and leather boots, she was now fully clad in Nordic carved armour, the steel teeth of a bear almost covering her eyes.

She carried large battle-axe on her back, but hadn’t unsheathed it yet. It mattered not, for Calixto’s puny steel dagger couldn’t penetrate her armour anyways.

And so he fled. Without even thinking, he turned an ran as fast as his ageing legs would allow him. Trying desperately not to slip and fall on the ice, perhaps cracking his skull open. He wouldn’t let this all have been for naught.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he tried every door in his path, and entered the first one that opened.

He didn’t recognise the place. It was strangely lit and had an eerie feeling to it. But he didn’t let that bother him. He began frantically searching for a weapon, anything strong enough to kill that whore.

Just as he’d finally found an iron mace, he heard the door creak open. He braced himself as the now heavy steel footsteps resounded on the hollow wooden floor.

She was inside, just around a corner. Calixto looked around for an escape, but found none. He tugged at windows and doors with all his strength — while attempting to remain unheard, of course — but to no avail.

He readied the mace, holding it with two hands in an awkward fashion. Calixto wasn’t accustomed to fighting. He’d always snuck up on people, killing them from behind.

He could hear her breath, she was right there. He stopped, thought about his life, about Lucilla, and about all the women he’d killed. He wouldn’t die, not today. And then he charged.

She was right in front of him in no time, and he immediately flung his mace at her waist, but it barely dented her armour. Before he could strike again, he saw — from the corner of his eye — that she’d lifted her battle-axe above her head, and was about to let it fall.

Then his whole life dashed before his eyes. And he felt sorry, so sorry. Sorry that he’d let Lucilla be killed. Sorry that he’d had to kill all those women. But most of all, he was sorry that he hadn’t brought her back in time, and now she'd be dead forever.

But there was no remorse. No guilt for his murders. He told himself everything he’d ever done, was justified. And he was no longer afraid.

And then the axe came down. The last thing Calixto Corrium ever heard was the sound of steel ripping through his flesh, his bone and marrow, and the sound of his head hitting the wooden floor with a grotesque thunk.

It was over. Everything was black. He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see, or feel anything anymore.

Calixto woke up. His head wasn’t pounding anymore, and he felt abnormally normal. He felt the rocky ground under him and stood up, steadying himself without a sway. It was dark, and cold, but still hot. The sky was flowing red like a sea of blood.

Suddenly, someone — or something — was standing in front of him. It was shaped like a man, but it was translucent. Its face was tortured and its clothes were no more than bloody rags.

It stared at him with a penetratingly evil glare.

“W- Where am I?” Calixto managed.

“Here,” an eerily two-toned voice began, “is where sickness is your bed, and ruin is your fell. Here, is where hunger is your plate, and famine is your knife. Here, is where there are no walls of rock, and stone, yet no one ever leaves. Here, is where you will forever dwell. I welcome you, Calixto Corrium, butcher, murderer, and pathetic necromancer, to Oblivion.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to get Callixto's perspective on this one, because we never learn much about him during the quest. I took some liberties but everything is sill lore friendly!


End file.
